


four be the things i am wiser to know

by typewrittenthoughts



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, more characters will be added i'm sure, so far entirely written between 1 and 3am, so the quality is definitely debatable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewrittenthoughts/pseuds/typewrittenthoughts
Summary: It wasn't that Patsy disliked her.Oh, no. It definitely wasn't that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's a load of these, I know, but it's 1am and I can't stop thinking so even if I don't continue with this I've at least done something with the headcanons that are beginning to pile up!
> 
> Also, a warning: I switch tenses like there's no tomorrow - I've chosen to leave them as trying to change them just made things feel disjointed, but if it's really bothering anyone I can try and smooth it out again.
> 
> Title stolen from the Dorothy Parker poem.

They’d all been there for five days before Delia turned up.

Patsy had gotten fairly well acquainted with her flatmates by then. She’d immediately hit it off with Trixie, thanks to an early discovery of their shared love for Billy Joel and a nice lipstick, and Barbara was a sweet girl who, although Patsy felt wouldn’t be as much fun as Trixie on a night out, had an endearing quality about her and a gift for gentle conversation. Upon hearing that Patsy was a literature student she’d immediately burst in to a flow about the works of Virginia Woolf, and despite Patsy being as little disconcerted by the sudden familiarity, it was a nice way to get to know her without worrying about awkward pauses.

She’d been more than happy with the arrangement - they were both easy for Patsy to get along with, and as for the shared living space, well, seven years of boarding school had thoroughly adjusted her to that. She didn’t mind when Barbara left forgotten mugs of tea in the living room, or when Trixie’s music was just a fraction too loud, though whether that be her desire for their friendship or the short space of time she wasn't sure. But things felt calm, manageable, settled. And that was when Delia turned up.

It wasn't that Patsy disliked her.

Oh, no. It definitely wasn't that.

She’d been sitting in the kitchen with Trixie and Barbara, looking over the notes from her earlier lecture, when they'd heard the doorbell to the flat ring. Barbara had gone to answer, her exclamation of surprise a few seconds later prompting the other two to frown at each other, but by the time they’d started to move toward the hallway, Barbara returned, followed by another girl neither of them recognised. 

Patsy met the eyes of this stranger, and felt something in her stomach flip.

She was _gorgeous._

Dark hair, blue eyes, slightly shorter than average. Patsy could see the muscles in her arms through her sleeves. 

“This is Delia. She’s…well, she’s going to be living with us.”

Trixie’s brow furrows for a brief second, before a smile fixes itself on her face. “Well, this is most unexpected. We’d all resigned ourselves to being a recreation of Charlie's Angels.”

Delia grins at this, revealing dimples in her cheeks. Patsy’s beginning to feel hot under the collar.

“I’m sure we can find a quartet to change to,” Trixie continues, oblivious to Patsy’s fluster and looking around the room for inspiration. “How about the March sisters?” she suggested. Delia grinned back at her, eyes flicking to the book sitting next to Patsy’s lecture schedule. “As long as I get to be Jo, I’m on board.”

Great. Welsh, dimples, and at least a basic knowledge of classic literature. Patsy knows she’s gone.

Ever the socialite, Trixie stands up, extending a hand to Delia. “Beatrix Franklin, better known as Trixie, and this is Patsy.”

The sound of her name forces Patsy to stop staring, snapping back in to reality as her manners kick in. She rises, locking eyes with Delia as she holds out her own hand. “It’s a pleasure,” she tells her, feeling her stomach flip again as Delia’s hand grips hers. “Likewise,” Delia responds, shaking her hand firmly. It feels as if their handshake lasts longer than strictly necessary, and eventually Patsy forces herself to withdraw, choosing instead to move to the kitchen area before Delia can spot how red her cheeks are going. Now seems an appropriate time to put the kettle on.

“So, Delia, what are you studying?”

Patsy vaguely registers the conversation going on behind her as she busies herself with tea-making. She learns that Delia is studying physiology, that she’d originally planned to go in to medicine but had always been far better at biology than she was at chemistry, leaving her a grade short of med school. Delia doesn't sound particularly disappointed, discussing with Barbara the unfairness of Rosalind Franklin’s lack of Nobel Prize and just how great her contributions to biology were. Patsy knows she ought to go back and play her part in the discussion, but she needs a few minutes to get a grip on her feelings, and besides, the conversation about their respective courses seems to be flowing nicely without her. She’s well acquainted with the initial stages of a crush, trying to think of stories she’d heard about how awkward it was when relationships between flatmates didn't work out in order to distract herself. She’d known the girl for all of thirty seconds, for God’s sake. No way was she going to let herself be so thrown off. 

Depositing a packet of biscuits on to her plate, she re-joins the group, perching on the sofa arm next to Barbara. Delia meets her eyes as soon as she settles, giving her a warm smile. Patsy returns it, but averts her eyes soon after, focussing heavily on the tea in front of her.

“Hang on, Delia, are you sure you’re with us?”

They all look over at Barbara in surprise, the girl in question frowning and looking out in to the hallway.

“That’s what the paperwork says, why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s just, well, there’s four of us, and three bedrooms.”

Delia looks around in confusion. “This is the fourth floor, yeah?”

Trixie puts her tea down and stands up, walking around the table to look at the paper Delia has in front of her. Scanning it, she chews her lip thoughtfully. “It says you're with us, though I’m not quite sure how. I’ve never heard of such a mix up.”

Patsy can’t help the mild relief that washes over her. It’s unfortunate, yes, but it’ll be a whole lot easier to focus if she isn’t thinking about the way Delia smiles. But then her eyes flick up to see an intense look of worry etched on to Delia’s features, and guilt immediately washes over her. It isn’t Delia’s fault that she’s finding it so unusually hard to keep her composure.

“There’s a sofa in my room,” she blurts out.

Three pairs of eyes immediately look at her. Patsy shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed. “We can sort the situation out in the morning, but it’s getting late, and I certainly wouldn’t want to lug all those suitcases around campus in the dark. You’re more than welcome to kip on that, for tonight at least.”

Trixie breaks in to a grin, looking from Patsy to Delia. “Well, that’s sorted then. I’m glad we won’t be losing you quite so soon, I’m determined to change your mind on the merits of modern art.”

Delia flashes a smile her way before looking back over at Patsy. Her smile widens instantly, turning in to an almost-smirk as Patsy’s cheeks begin to redden yet again, continuing to hold her gaze even as she reaches for another biscuit.

This was either going to go very well, or very, very badly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've debated the spelling of 'whisky' so much that it doesn't actually feel like a word anymore.

The rest of the evening went pleasantly enough, and Delia soon seemed to lose her previous worry, although whether that was due to the temporary solution or fact that she was absolutely sloshed was anyone’s guess. The wine had been cracked open and Patsy had contributed the whiskey she’d stashed away. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but in all their conversation topics Delia seemed to take a particular interest in her, quizzing her on her Literature course and asking about her home life. If anyone was well-trained in the art of dodging questions, it was Patsy, and thankfully Delia didn’t seem too bothered by her vagueness, filling the gaps with anecdotes and queries. It was a shame, really, that she wouldn’t be staying - she’d clicked so well with everyone that Patsy rather suspected things would feel positively lacking without her.

“Come on Babs, I think you’ve had enough.”

Barbara’s only response to Trixie was a stifled groan, trying to comply with the blonde as she looped her arm around her to get her to her feet. “Let’s go, sweetie, to bed with you.”

Patsy instinctively stood up to help, but Trixie shook her head, looking over at Delia instead. The Welsh woman was certainly faring better than Barbara, observing the other girls with a vague smile, but she looked on the verge of falling asleep, and Patsy suspected she may need a spot of help moving. “Coming, Delia?” she asked, extending a hand to help the brunette up, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way her stomach flipped as Delia’s hand met hers. Just the whisky, she was sure.

Delia managed around four steps before falling practically in to Patsy, swearing loudly. “Sorry. Whisky I can handle, but wine just…something about it sets me off. Feel like I’ve drunk myself in to another dimension. Is that normal?”

“Not sure about the alternative universe aspect, but considering we’ve gone through three bottles between us, I’m not surprised you’re feeling it. Come on, I’m at the end of the hall.” Patsy wrapped an arm around Delia in an attempt to provide some kind of support, glad that she was still steady enough on her feet to support the Welshwoman. Years of sneaking all sorts of contraband in to her school dorm were clearly paying off.

Patsy deposited Delia on her bed while she went to get changed, deciding that if she was going to pass out, it may as well be somewhere comfortable instead of against a wall, or worse, straight to the floor. Opening a drawer, she flicked through her pyjamas, trying to find something that would fit the brunette. “Do you mind if the pyjamas are a bit long? I must have at least five inches on you, it’s rather unavoidable I’m afraid.” Silence. “Delia?”

Curious about the lack of response, Patsy looked over her shoulder to find Delia face-down on her bed, fast asleep.

Well, she figured, pulling an old shirt on. Sofa it is, then.

It was only as Patsy went to turn the light out that she realised Delia still had her shoes on, so she abandoned her task and went to remove them. Her hands weren’t as steady as they could have been, causing her to jerk Delia’s ankle rather harshly, but all she received was a drowsy groan before the brunette began to breathe evenly again. Placing them neatly on the floor, she fetched a second blanket - there was no point in taking Delia in for the night only to send her off with a chill - and gently covered her with it. Without thinking, Patsy took a moment to brush a bit of Delia’s fringe out of her eye, snatching her hand back almost immediately and retreating sharply to the sofa, glad to see the brunette hadn't stirred again.

Despite the fuzziness in her head, sleep certainly didn’t come as easily to Patsy.

* * *

“How in the world are you so perky after last night?”

Patsy jumped at the sound of Delia’s voice, looking over her shoulder to where the brunette was settling in to a seat. “I didn’t have nearly as much as you. Besides, when it comes to hangovers I like to simply ignore them until they give up and go away, it makes for a much more productive morning.”

“Mind over migraine?”

“Exactly.” Patsy shot Delia a lopsided smile, pushing a plate of toast towards her. “Here. There’s jam in the cupboard if you want any, I feel like the sugar would be welcome.”

Delia grinned back at her. “Thanks. I need to phone the admissions officer, and apparently she’s a bit of a dragon, so I’ll need to keep my strength up.”

Patsy hummed in response, moving to sit beside Delia with coffee in hand and reaching for a piece of toast. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Delia slowly reviving herself while Patsy looked idly out of the window, continuing in her mission to steadily ignore the stuffy feeling in her head.

“Pats?”

Patsy looked up, an eyebrow raised at the shortening of her name. “Yes, Deels?” she teased gently. Delia shot her a look of mixed irritation and amusement, her mouth forming a small smirk before softening.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night. You could have moved me to the sofa, you know, I wouldn’t have minded. It’s your bed.”

“Nonsense, I was perfectly comfortable,” she paused, a mischievous grin forming. “Besides, I think I’d have been a lot less sympathetic if you’d dribbled all over the sofa arm. At least I can wash the pillowcases.”

Delia looked at her for a long moment, and Patsy could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She began to worry that she’d gone too far, perhaps Delia thought she was serious, she couldn’t tell. Just as she opened her mouth to apologise, Delia began to speak again. “Difficult not to, really, when five feet away from someone who looks like you.”

She didn’t stop to see Patsy’s reaction, merely winking at her before standing and heading back in to Patsy’s room to change her clothes, leaving the redhead in a state of stunned silence at the kitchen table. Almost immediately after Delia disappeared, Trixie waltzed in, oblivious to Patsy’s dazed state. “Have we got any paracetamol? Babs is in rather a state, I’m not sure she even remembers how she ended up like that. We’ll have to keep a firmer eye on her - is everything okay?”

Patsy shook her head, snapping herself out of her thoughts. “Of course, still a bit groggy is all.” Trixie still didn’t look convinced, so Patsy forced a smile on to her face, taking a long sip of coffee. “Honestly, two hours and I’ll be right as rain. I'm nothing if not determined.”

“Alright. Where’s our lodger, by the way? Did she sleep okay?”

“Getting changed. Or potentially still recovering from last night. I think in future we ought to keep the wine to us until we’ve trained her and Barbara up a bit.”

“I heard that!”

Patsy grinned in the direction of the indignant shout from her room. “One day you’ll thank me!”

Trixie eyed her carefully. “Someone’s certainly bright-eyed this morning.”

“Hangovers are for the weak, so you always say.”

“Mm.” Trixie paused, surveying the way Patsy’s fingers tapped excitedly against her coffee mug, the way her eyes kept dancing to her bedroom door. Dropping her voice, she leaned closer to the redhead. “Are you sure it hasn’t got more to do with our tenant?”

Patsy’s eyes snapped away from her bedroom, meeting Trixie’s thoughtful stare. “Trixie! I hardly know her. It hasn’t even been a full day. Besides, the more chipper I seem, the more scared my hangover becomes. It’s a tried and tested method.”

Trixie tutted, moving to pour herself some coffee. “I’m not sure the hangover has that much of a mind of its own,” she muttered to herself, watching as Patsy’s eyes drifted once more to the door, a small smile forming involuntarily on her lips. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”


End file.
